


Compromised

by EdgeLaur



Series: Dead Soldiers [4]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: A character who dies but isnt dead, Blind Soldier: 76, Blindness, Blood and Violence, Broken Bones, Eye Trauma, Hallucinations, Head Injury, I would say major character death but, Loss of Trust, M/M, Major Character Injury, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-07-24 08:07:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7500624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EdgeLaur/pseuds/EdgeLaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watchpoint Zurich was destroyed. The PETRAS Act was initiated. Overwatch was compromised. </p><p>And even though Jack Morrison was dead, he was always too stubborn to stay down.</p><p>(Companion to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/7603324/chapters/17304418">Decayed</a>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Ending

The hardest part was coming to.

He took a gasp of life-giving breath and immediately regretted such a survivalist decision. Pain lanced through him like lightning, everything seizing. His body panicked, shaking with unrelenting convulsions. His ears rang, his face felt wet and hot, and his whole chest refused to cooperate with the frantic messages his brain was sending it. Panic rushed the adrenaline quickly through his veins, opening every nerve ending until finally, wretchedly, he coughed in the air his body was fighting so hard for.

It was released in an agony-filled scream, a tortured reminder to his ringing ears that his body still had the fight to stay alive.

He was dying. This had to be what dying felt like, sitting on the precipice but with no way of swinging all the way over. Or perhaps he had swung across, flinging himself into the fires of the hell that awaited him. With his grinding teeth and gnashing bones on top of the dark, sweltering, smoke filled air, he might as well already be there.

Body trembling but still breathing, he tried frantically to switch his brain back on. He needed to remember why this was happening, why he was in such a state, but everything was covered in fog. Outside of his tinnitus, sounds were horridly muffled. His eyes could see nothing, he could smell nothing-- the nothingness of everything but his pain threatened to completely drown him, and again his body had to fight its way out of shock. He tried to remember his training, tried to focus his mind like he had been taught, eons ago in boot camp.

 _Just remember yourself first,_ his pain-laced thoughts said, oddly calm over the terror of his bodily state. He tried to not focus on how his right arm refused to move. _Who are you? Jack. You are Jack Morrison._

_Jack Morrison, Strike Commander, first-in-command of Overwatch._

_**Overwatch.** _ **  
**

The word repeated in his mind, glowing like a beacon, and his eyes snapped open wide, his body growing taut. _Overwatch_ was why he was here in this half-alive state. _Overwatch_ was why Jack Morrison was finding himself clinging to life, scrambling for purchase. He fought through the haze towards those thoughts, urging his body to move. Move, move, _move, Jack! You have to-_

Another ( _there was a first? Yes, he remembered now, there was a first-_ ) explosion shook the nearby vicinity and he instinctively rolled, his body sending fresh tendrils of agony shooting up and down his right side. His nose was assaulted with smoke and burning ozone as a new wave of heated air flew past him. He waited out the blast, taking a few steadying breaths before rolling over, trying against his better judgement to sit up and look around.

His eyes were far from cooperating, however. Blurred on the edges, nothing was coming into focus. Worse still was the sticky warmth blossoming all along his face, trickling across his skin unpleasantly, distractingly. It took him a belated moment to realize it was blood - _his blood -_ coating him filling his mouth with a coppery taste, his tongue reflexively running over all his teeth. His jaw ached from where it was assaulted by Gabe’s fists and boots and blows and--

Gabe.

_“Gabe.”_

His voice struggled out, as wrecked as the rest of him. It hurt to speak, to move - _perhaps a few broken ribs,_ Jack thought to himself - but that hardly mattered because he needed to find _him_ , needed to tell him before it was too late--

“Gabriel,” Jack tried again, but his voice hardly carried. Slowly, he picked himself up, body protesting, working against an unforgiving gravity as he crawled forward, looking for something, _anything_ that would clue him into what truly was happening. If Jack was in this sort of state, well…

He didn't want to think about _well._ He never wanted to imagine, to ever believe that Gabe could be... _would be…_

 _As if losing Ana wasn't enough,_ his thoughts told him, as bitter as the blood he tasted. _You can't afford for him to be gone. Don't think about it. Don't._ **_Don't!_ **

He looked around, his eyes still struggling to focus. Distant shapes were blurred, but he could see the colors, the light of what looked like fire dancing in the distance. Everything was tilted, lopsided from the earlier blasts. As his ears cleared, everything groaned threateningly around him. He needed to find Gabriel. They needed to get out of here somehow. He needed to get backup, needed to apologize, needed to do so many things…

_One thing at a time, Jack._

His brain was always a reservoir of calm, even in high stress situations. Jack was sure this heightened clarity was the only thing that had kept him alive in more than one instance, this one being no exception. As the calm sharpness of his mind grew clearer and clearer, he laid down his path before him. Tentatively, insanely, he pulled himself up off the ground and took a few shaky steps into the crumbling building around him.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. When they had come to Zurich, it had been a distress signal, a reason to come quickly, a matter that pertained heavily to the Strike Commander. Looking back, it had been a stupid reason to come running - from the beginning he should have known it was a trap. If he wasn’t aware of his fate before coming to headquarters, he certainly was when he saw Gabriel Reyes there waiting for him, his shotguns at his sides and that look on his face. It was a face that only Morrison could truly decipher, one that was so steely cold, so hard, but with the light of panic barely noticeable in his eyes. It was the look that Reyes reserved for the worst of moments-- those moments when he knew they were in shit so deep not even the crafty Blackwatch Commander himself could find a way to climb out of it.

No sooner had he hit the ground of the helipad that Reyes had opened his mouth, spewing the worst words Morrison had ever heard slung his direction. It had floored him into silence-- not because this man that he  had been at such odds with was throwing the most pointed words his way, but because of... _everything else._ Jack knew Gabriel better than anyone - had worked and lived with him longer than anyone - and everything in the man’s mannerism's felt desperate, disjointed, _frantic_. The more Jack listened and watched, the more of Reyes' hidden language came out, the coded wording becoming clearer and clearer.

“Jack _, fuck, this is what I was telling you,”_ Gabriel had told Morrison through a flurry of punches, swinging the heavy shotgun towards his head. _“They know. They know_ everything _. This whole place is rigged to blow.”_ They traded fists and words themselves, dancing a dark foxtrot full of anger, spite, love and desperation. _“Swear to me to make this convincing because if you don't we are going to fucking die!”_

And so Jack had made it convincing. Hell, he almost convinced himself, got lost in the emotion of the fight, let Gabe’s words dig into his soul and sting at his eyes. Let the shotgun spray get too close to his face, the pellets racing hot across his skin as they flew past. It wasn't until Gabe was hovering over him that he was reminded of the giant ruse his best friend was trying to pull. Tears in his eyes, the words ghosted out like a prayer, words Jack would never let go of.

_“It’s too late. Overwatch is compromised, Jack.”_

And that was the point of no return. Those uttered words triggered the deafening explosion of the compound above them, and the world lurched and buried them beneath the sins of their past.

However not even a collapsing building could kill the great Jack Morrison. But, if the building had crushed the one thing he cared more for than anything, the harm would be far worse than death.

 _Don't think like that,_ he scolded himself, feeling his temperature spiking. He swallowed, his chest tightening, steadying himself as the heat wave struck him. He doubled over, heaving, doing his best not to give in to nausea.

He coughed and instead of bile, a laugh bubbled out, unbidden and unwanted. The tears formed from pain, but the mad giggles escaping him wouldn't cease. _Man, you really got yourself fucked over this time, Morrison._ It was almost as if he could hear Gabe’s gruff voice scolding him from in his own head, and Jack just laughed all the more for it. _This is the kind of shit that happens when you don't listen to me, but hey, if you want to bleed out on your own stupidity, be my guest._

As always, Gabriel was right. Even in his head, the man was the most logical person in his life. If only Jack hadn't been so stubborn, so self-assured. Maybe if hadn't, he could have stopped Ana’s death before it happened, he would have known that Amelie was compromised, that most of Overwatch was, in fact…

_Overwatch is compromised._

Jack stumbled on something and caught himself, blinking furiously. Blast it all, he couldn't even see the piping at his very feet-- the fuck was wrong with eyes? The throbbing ache at the back of his skull didn't help, and any time he tried to focus, nothing happened. He rubbed at his sockets, wiping away blood, sweat and dirt: somehow that seemed to do the trick. A few definitive forms swam into view -- the destroyed awnings of the left wing of HQ,  a pipe in the exposed wall spewing out water, a fire flickering in the distance, and a dark, bloodied mass on the ground that looked suspiciously like…

**_“Gabriel!”_ **

Jack urged his body forward, the blood pounding in his head. About a hundred different memorized safety procedures sprang into his brain, drowning out any warnings his protesting body was giving him as he moved closer to his fallen friend. His frantic, disjointed steps quickened into a limping run before falling heavily next to the body of the man that, minutes before, he had been fighting to the death.

It looked as if neither of them were going to make it out of this intact.

“Gabe!” He cried desperately. His voice caught in a way he knew Gabe would playfully describe as pathetic, as if the man under him was in any mood to actually say anything. He was dangerously limp, head turned to the side, looking far too still to be sleeping. Jack steadied his shaking hand before having the piece of mind to yank his glove off with his teeth (his right arm still hung limply- _later, later, worry about it LATER_ ), turning Gabriel's face toward him, searching for anything. Jack did his best to not think about the blood running dark rivers along Gabe’s skin, tried not to look at the fresh cuts his rifle had placed on his nose that would probably scar ( _Of course it’ll scar, the man scars from paper cuts, not that he would ever admit it_ ). He tried not to think of how Reyes didn't respond to his touch, didn't lean into his hand, tried not to think of how he couldn't see the eyes rolling, trying to open and wake up. He tried not to think of how he couldn’t feel the man's breath on his sensitive wrist, even when he counted to ten, to twenty. By the time he thought to check for a pulse, his chest was tight and his vision was blurring again, water filming his lenses and making the world swim.

He grabbed Gabriel's chest plate, gave the man a shake. “Gabriel,” he choked out. _You know already. “_ Gabe, come on man, don't do this to me.” _Just stop. “_ I can't lose you. I could lose anyone as long as I had you. I can't lose _you_ , Gabriel…”

Still Gabriel lay unresponsive and try as he might, as much as he struggled and second-guessed himself, Jack couldn't find his pulse. He hated that his brain logically concluded how Gabe was closer to the blast, standing where Jack was already laying down in a defensive position, pushed there by Reyes himself…

“F _ucking damnit Reyes_ ! Wake the _fuck_ up! That's an order!” Jack shook his lifeless body angrily, as if his emotion alone could bring the man back from the edge. “This was my fault, and I'm sorry. Is that what you wanted to hear? That I'm sorry?! I should have fucking trusted you sooner?” His voice rose dangerously, swimming with emotion. “Fucking hell, Reyes **,** **_you can't leave me like this_ ** **!”**

It was too much. Everything was _too much._ They had been tricked, forced into this final confrontation, and for what, for _this_? It was Jack’s immediate instinct to blame himself, to want to punch more pain into his roiling gut for letting this happen. For not listening to Gabe years ago when he started bringing back conflicting information, when he started looking into Talon. He should have listened to the man's seemingly unfounded paranoia, but Jack had been so full of himself for so long, so busy with the media, with dealing with the reports, with the distrust…

He was so blind. He had always been so _fucking blind._

It was only a matter of time until he stumbled.

 

\-------

 

Jack had no idea how long he stayed there with Gabriel’s body. He knew he needed to move, needed to get himself out of where he was, needed to leave, but he couldn't. He _wouldn't_ leave Gabe's body. A part of him hoped that eventually he too would just collapse in overwhelming numbness and join Reyes in oblivion. It would be better than continuing, he was sure; would be easier than getting back up on these broken limbs, looking for help. And then, he thought furiously, who could he trust now? Who was left, in the crumbling ruin of the organization both of these dead soldiers had helped start? Everyone else had left or had died. He had no idea his true loyalties anymore. The whole of the group was fractured, torn asunder. There was no where to go ahead of him. There was nothing left for him here.

Jack Morrison knew only one thing for sure; he wanted to die here in the rubble, next to the man that meant everything to him.

He was running his fingers absently through Gabe’s hair _(he had taken off his beanie to check for fractures, he told himself, as he stored the hat gingerly in his back pocket)_ when he heard it -- voices. Jack's head snapped up, his ears straining; yes, he heard it again, voices of people walking through the rubble of the building. Jack's breath hitched as he heard the murmur of a woman-- crisp German, light steps. Angela Ziegler. Mercy. Someone from Overwatch. An ally.

_Overwatch is compromised, Jack._

He sprang to his feet immediately, the pain of his limbs forgotten again as adrenaline was pumped through in fresh waves. His eyes scanned the surrounding area, looking for a place to go, but as the light faded from sunset to twilight, Jack's eyes were proving to be useless. Whatever damage had caused them to blur was back in action, causing him to curse everything to oblivion. Still, his ears strained, honing in on the quiet words coming from the Swiss woman. He knelt down and grasped protectively at Gabe's sweatshirt, digging his nails in. For some reason, his instincts told him to keep Gabe's body from Mercy at all costs. He had to hide him, had to get away, had to do _something._

Footsteps drew closer. Jack's heart lept in his chest.

_Overwatch is compromised._

By the time she got to his position, both bodies were already long gone. Hiding amongst the rubble and out of sight, Jack held his breath, holding Gabriel's body close. Above him, muffled words were all he could hear, and he couldn't see anything with his vision failing and the light fading. Footsteps above caused him to tense, silently working his jaw.

Jack heard clipped German in a man’s voice: he guessed a local officer asking what happened. Per protocol, he was certain Angela was telling the Swiss man that she was searching for survivors, that civilians had been evacuated, and that Overwatch was involved with private affairs --

As soon as he heard “ _Overwatch”_ leave her lips, he heard the protests from the guard, and didn't need a translator to know this conversation was going from bad to worse very quickly. He closed his eyes, clutching Reyes’ body close, silently willing them away. Eventually their voices drifted away, distracted from looking for survivors ( _looking_ _for us, they are specifically looking for_ us _)_ to calming the media reports. Soon it was silent but for the sounds of the night falling around him.

All that was left now was the tough choice in front of Jack. He didn't want to admit it, but he had to leave the complex, and he had to do it as discreetly as possible. That meant... _fuck._ It meant leaving Gabriel's body behind. He squeezed the lifeless form close to him, cradling it, as if any minute now the man residing inside this sorry sack of bones would wake up and complain of his killer headache. When nothing happened, Jack swallowed thickly and set the body down as quietly and gently as possible. The small pocket he had found was secure enough that he was sure nobody would go digging for it. It was the closest he could come to burying Gabe, and it was the closest he would ever get - a small mausoleum among the rubble. He marked the place mentally, quickly memorizing everything about the spot that he could, from the rocks, the formations outside the spot, the way it faced the coast of the lake that bordered the large Swiss city. He memorized the smell of the fire mixed with the fresh breeze coming off the water in the midnight hours. He memorized the ache in his bones, the blood on his face, the scars that were already settling in his head and heart. He memorized everything.

Jack Morrison had a long memory. Jack Morrison refused to forget this.

“ _It’s too late, Jack.”_

Maybe it wasn't too late. Maybe it wasn't truly his fault.

He would find out what happened, even if it killed him. He knew it wouldn't though. Jack Morrison could only be killed by Gabriel Reyes, a dead man. Nothing could kill him now, and he was done with being blind.

Overwatch was compromised. And he'd be damned if he wouldn't find out why and make those responsible pay for it.


	2. A Regret

Jack Morrison was a fucking idiot. He had always been an idiot- a fact that was becoming increasingly more and more clear to him as the night progressed. He may have narrowly escaped a physical death once, but he was certainly letting the grim reaper get his second shot tonight.

His plan of direction was, in essence, directionless. He had left the rubble of the Swiss watchpoint with the determination to bring justice to those responsible but what an insurmountable task it currently was. For one, he was gravely injured and yet had purposefully run away from the best medic he knew. For another, he had no resources since he had just disowned the organization that had given him all he would ever need. He had no allies because he couldn't trust anyone with a blown cover. He had no weapons and no wits about him, both left behind in the explosion. All he had was the protection of his presumed death to keep anyone off his trail. That was the only way he could make this work: stay completely off the grid, off the map, off the face of the goddamn Earth. He would make himself disappear.

As long as he could survive the night, that was.

He had decided the best course of action was to follow the shoreline. The lake was a landmark and a compass and it would be easier to find his way as long as he could see the water. The only problem seemed to be the activity of actually _seeing._ Frustratingly, whatever happened during that blast had temporarily affected his vision. The darkness wasn't helping; the darker it became, the harder it was to see anything in front of or around him. Forms would swim in and out his range of sight, bringing up phantoms and enemies and making his head throb from the stress of trying to focus. His helpless stumbling did nothing but slow him down, causing him panic, anxiety, and paranoia. His whole body spasmed and ached with every new solid force encountered, until he was breathless from the slicing heat consuming his limbs, his face, his lungs. His limp and useless arm throbbed, sending a fresh wave of nausea that he had to fight off for almost 30 minutes.

He didn't want to admit it, but Jack had bitten off more than he could chew. He was hit with the crushing realization that he didn’t know where he was going, what he was going to do, and was only moving through sheer perseverance. He was crippled, disabled, possibly bleeding internally, nauseated, and also fighting shock. Don’t worry though; he’d be the one to make a difference, avenge Gabriel, and save the day from the evil corrupt underbelly of a compromised global security system.

_Stupid. Bull-headed. Idiot._

Suddenly his foot misstepped, twisting his leg around an unseen root. The world lurched; his arm instinctively flew out ahead to catch him, but all he caught was air. His stomach turned when the breeze rushed past and no hard ground rushed to greet him. Instead, his body kept its momentum His twisted leg however, didn’t get the memo.

It all happened inside of a horrid, nightmarish second. His body caught, his leg bending in ways a leg never should. The blind pain filled his senses until the inevitable -- the sickening _crack_ sounded as loud as a gunshot in the night air. His body continued its its free fall now that his leg was released, but for how far and how long, Jack would never recall. He was out cold from the pain before his body even hit the ground.

\------

_They were watching a horror holovid, some classic shit that Reyes loved and had somehow convinced Jack to watch with him. Jack wasn't sure what the man adored about these movies, honestly. He endured them just to have an excuse to be with the man late at night, the only time of day Gabriel ever let his defenses down enough to relax into Jack. If it let them lean against each other, their chaste hand-holdings hidden from prying eyes in the shadows and darkness, then Jack could deal. He could get through another stupid, anxiety-ridden movie if it meant a few more hours with a man who so recently (and unexpectedly) had started returning his affections._

_Tonight, Reyes had talked Jack into watching_ The Thing. _The movie was almost 60 years old now and yet the special effects of the pieces were just as disturbing now as they were during the late 20th century cinema. Not five minutes in and Jack was already swallowing down his jumping heart, trying his best to stomach the fake blood and gore. Next to him, a deep, quiet chuckle escaped Reyes._

_“That scared, Morrison?”_

_“What? Of course not, there's nothing gut-wrenchingly horrifying about watching a soulless dog become a split-faced tentacle monster and assimilate all the other dogs in a violent gory show.”_

_Reyes’ laugh just grew, his head shaking._

_“Yeah, sure, play the big man, Jack, but you’re squeezing my hand so hard you're cutting off my circulation.” Suddenly self-conscious, Jack immediately loosened his grip. As soon as he did though, Gabriel just grabbed his hand tighter, giving it a reaffirming squeeze. “I’m just giving you shit,_ cabrón. _Relax already.”_

_Jack just huffed out, his leg shaking up and down as he watched the film. Reyes put a hand on his thigh to still the movement, prompting Jack to avert his eyes from the film,  burying his face in the other man's thick shoulder. From the holovid came a gurgling sound effect that turned his stomach._

_“God, how do you enjoy this shit, Reyes.”_

_“Are you kidding me?” He shot back calmly. “These kinds of vids are hilarious.”_

_Jack had to meet his eye after that, scoffing._

_“Hilarious? You find insane amounts of gore and violence and terror hilarious?”  Jack snuck a peek at the screen;  least Kurt Russell was on now instead of some horrifying monster._

_“Yeah, because it’s such a dramatic bastardization of what it’s really like out there. The end is hardly this terrible and gorey, it’s all for show.” He said it all so matter-of-factly. “These movies are thrilling, but fun. Unrealistic. Something to help regular people forget about the scary shit that's really out there in the world.”_

_“Like what?”_

_“Jack, we both know there are things out there worse than death.”_

_A thoughtful silence followed Gabe’s statement, and for a while, Jack had nothing to follow it up with. Instead, they both sat on that common-room couch, watching a monstrous alien infiltrate the research team, taking them out one by one. While the gorey showing of the creature still unsettled him, he supposed he could appreciate Reyes’ interest in such media. It took a poetic and exciting look at something that most people never wanted to face. And here was Gabriel, watching with rapt attention, pointing out interesting tidbits about the movie every now and then, and consuming it like popcorn. As they reached the open-ended conclusion, it was Jack who spoke first._

_“You don’t fear death, do you.”_

_Gabe shifted, turned a dark, thoughtful eye onto Jack. It was a look that made Gabe look decades older than Jack, despite the meager 14 months separating their ages._

_“We’re soldiers, Morrison, dead men walking no matter which way you look. I’d rather meet Death in a challenge than by running until he catches me cold. You can’t hide forever, you know?”_

_“So does that make you Kurt Russell in this film then?”_

_A dark bark of a laugh responded._

_“Nah, that’s you, if you’d ever grow the balls for it, Morrison. Your pretty face demands a big explosive ending. Me? I’d rather silence Death in single combat and make him ever regret trying to take me down.” There was an excitement there that didn’t escape Jack. A frown pulled on his mouth as his stomach twisted unpleasantly. He nudged the man’s shoulder with his own, causing Reyes to huff._

_“Yeah well, don’t go looking for a fight with Death too often. I’d like to keep you for a little while longer.”_

_Another laugh, this one tinged with a more affectionate color._

_“We’ll see, cariño. We’ll see.”_

\-----

He awoke to the soft sound of a radio. It started out fuzzy, indistinguishable, in a language he recognized but didn’t understand. The sound was pleasant but the more he focused, the more frustrated he became. His brow furrowed; his head throbbed and itched in response, causing his focus to drop as he groaned. He tossed his head and tried to lift his arm to rub away the pain but was only greeted with restraint.

That grabbed his attention fully; he inhaled sharply as his eyes snapped open. The world he awoke to was a bright blurred mess that stung and strained his eyes. Instinctively, he looked towards his arm and pulled harder, trying to free himself. Nothing happened. He tugged harder, but his struggles prompted another sound -- a voice, much louder and closer than the radio.

It was a man’s voice, again in that language he knew but didn’t know. A few words here and there he picked out and understood, and he focused on those as hands came down on his body, urging him to lay back down. Words like _‘doctor,_ ’ ‘ _please’, ‘I need’_ along with a few others. Another voice, more worried than the first, filled the room. As he listened, his breathing evened out and he finally placed it; German. They were speaking German, or something very similar to it.

“Hey,” he said, his voice thick and his throat cottony. Both voices paused and he could hear their bodies turn towards him. The man spoke a few words he didn’t understand, prompting him to shake his head. Such a simple action caused his whole skull to throb, and he groaned in  annoyance. It even hurt to swallow.

“Water,” he said to neither of them in particular, and when he was met with silence, he wracked his brain for anything he could. He licked his lips and as his cheeks moved more, he became aware of the bandages covering parts of his face.

“Water,” he repeated, his voice breaking unpleasantly. The man said a few things, and Jack tried his hardest to focus on where he was. Shapes and colors swam in and out of focus, his vision failing to make sense of what he was seeing. He could make out a face and a white coat; this guy was probably the doctor he heard mentioned earlier. _Shit,_ he thought to himself. He wished he could just reach up to rub his eyes but that still seemed out of the question.

A soft nudge on his shoulder caught his attention, and he turned to the man again. He was closer now, allowing Jack to see more features; whitening hair, a moustache, thick glasses, a furrowed brow. He furrowed his brow right back, doing his best to get a good read on this man.

“ _Sind Sie Schweizer? Deutscher?_ ” the doctor asked him matter-of-factly, and something about that sentence felt tantalizingly familiar. He had been asked something similar ages ago, when he first started Overwatch. He frowned, shaking his head softly in response.

“No, Ich bin Amerikaner,” was his muffled response, and he could see the eyes widen behind those black rims. He let out a small “ _Ach nee!_ ” and clapped his hands together.

“Of course you are, how silly of me. An American! You should have said so sooner. Not that you could have but...!”

Jack blinked in slight surprise. The man had very fluent English which he hadn’t been expecting after so much German. It reminded him of whenever Reinhardt and Angela would get into lengthy discussions using their native tongues -- but he cut that memory off as fast he could, stuffing it down deep. The man chuckled lightly at whatever expression was hanging around his face, pulling Jack out of painful thoughts. Instead, he watched the doctor scoot himself closer, pulling out a few instruments to check his vitals.

“You know, you gave us quite the scare for a while there. Good to see you awake. Very good.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack mumbled out. The doctor simply clicked his tongue, coming in close to check Jack’s ears and eyes.

“Don’t be. _You-”_ he paused as he looked for a clean utensil. “-are very lucky to be alive right now.”

Jack tried to laugh but only succeeded in letting out a thick cough. The doctor sat back a bit and let him have some space, before checking his nose and mouth. He then went back to Jack’s eyes, mumbling a few things in German.

“Where am I, doc?” Jack managed to ask offhandedly.

“Hm, Horgen Switzerland, along Lake Zurich. We didn’t find you here though,” he added, when he saw the look of confusion on Jack’s face. “No no, we had to move you here, because your injuries were so terrible we had no place else to go but a better hospital. We would have gone to Zurich, but the city is in a right state at the moment, so best to avoid it.  If my daughter hadn’t heard you fall, you’d be dead and lost in the middle of the mountains, though,I can assure you.”

“You _moved_ …Doc, how long have I been here?”

“Oh,” he counted in his head, making a few noncommittal noises as he thought. “Perhaps five days? _Alter Schwede_ , how you survived is a miracle on it’s own. But you do have the body of an ox, so surely that helps!”

That took some time for Jack to digest, and he sat in silence while the doctor did his checks. The man seemed to make a lot of noise while he worked; he hummed to the tunes on the radio, he tapped his foot to the beat, he mumbled German under his breath, he clicked his tongue. As he worked, Jack did his best to watch him, trying to focus on whatever he could. He scowled at his lack of vision; five days and he could hardly call what he was experiencing now an improvement. If anything, things felt _worse_ ; the edges made it feel as if a thick lens had come down over his eyes and blurred everything. His brain would see detail just to have it flit back out of range again. Despite the fuzziness pervading all edges, he could still see shapes, colors… he could see the bedside stand, the door in the corner leading out to a hallway, the sanitary white of the walls, and he could see his bed and his body under him. He noticed belatedly that he wasn’t actually restrained; he was just bound so tightly to one side that he couldn’t move his arm. His right arm, which had been useless since the blast, no longer shot pain through him, but the dull ache was still there. He rolled his shoulder experimentally, sighing happily when he felt the bone underneath pop in its socket.  Next to him, he felt the doctor shift and make a surprised sound.

Jack swallowed and stilled his body. He an enhanced soldier; years ago he had been a government experiment-turned-hero and his body was never the same again. Among the super strength and endurance, he also accelerated healing. With being bedridden for five days, he knew his body was already busy adjusting itself, fixing itself. He didn’t know what kind of questions this doctor would have for him if he knew that sort of information. Instead, he shifted in the bed, clearing his throat.

“So what happened to me, Doc?” The doctor gave a disapproving _hmmm_ to that question.

“More like what _didn’t_ happen to you, _ach du meine Güte._ Multiple broken ribs, a tibia cracked right through, torn ligaments in your right shoulder and a fractured humerus, pierced lung, bruising in multiple organs, signs of trauma, severe facial lacerations, a concussion to the back of the skull…” The doctor sighed and sat back, where Jack could just make out his shaking head. “It is not my place to pry as a doctor, but you should take better care of yourself, my boy.”

“Yeah, it was a uh...rough day.”

A nod from the doctor.

“And I was drunk.”

A noncommittal sound.

“On vacation.”

“I see.”

Jack swallowed again and looked down and away, his left hand playing with the cloth on the bed. _Stupid alibi, not suspicious at all._ The thickness of the back of his throat returned, reminding him of his earlier question.

“Can I get some water, I’m parched.”

“Ah, yes, of course. Can I ask one last question, before doing so?”

Jack studied him carefully, a dark feeling settling in his stomach. Slowly, he nodded.

“Was it your eyes that got you into this mess, or was it this mess that got to your eyes?”

Jack blinked, as if in a futile attempt to bring this man into better view.

“What? I don’t-”

The doctor moved to the table next to the bed and set something cool, damp and tall in his hand. A glass of water. It had been there the whole time but  he didn’t even notice it.

No, that wasn’t right.

It wasn’t that he didn’t notice it. It was because he couldn’t _see_ it.

“I wasn’t sure at first, but seeing you awake, I can tell. I’m sorry to say it boy, but whatever happened to you… it took your vision.”

His throat tightened at his hand grasped at the cool glass, struggling to see the clear liquid he knew was there.

“Slowly but surely, you’re going blind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for any translations being rough. I'm not good with anything other than English, but should be getting better translations for later chapters.
> 
> (Where am I going with this? Who knows. It should be a fun ride though)


	3. A Diagnosis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hospitals are a bitch.

Blindness. 

The idea alone was enough to make dark laughter bubble up in the back of his throat.

_ Blindness _ . Of all the cruel ironies life could have thrown at him, this was the worst joke imaginable. He had jumped from the figurative to the literal and lost everything in the process.

Great. Fantastic. Just what he needed. 

Jack’s job at getting to the bottom of all this kept getting better and better.

The worst part is that to him, it didn’t make sense. It felt like a  _ fixable _ problem. He wasn’t seeing black, he wasn’t color blind, and his eyes weren’t all clouded or damaged. He could still  _ see, _ it just...it felt like he couldn’t  _ focus _ . Lines ran together. It was difficult to see detail from more than 3 feet away. Sometimes things would look clear; others times it would be a messy blob. Staring at a holoscreen long enough was all he needed to spark a headache at the back of his skull. 

Next thing he knew, the doctor was drilling him with questions; what could he see? Couldn't see? They did vision test after vision test. Most felt like the kind he took back in grade school; others felt as sophisticated as cutting edge technology. With every test, he could hear the doctor’s mood shift; the small optimistic noises and mannerisms slowly gave way to irritated  _ tuts _ which died slowly down to silence. Jack could feel him tensing with worry and after the third test with no response from the physician, he decided to take matters into his own hands. Literally. As the doctor moved past him, he brought out his good hand, grabbing the man’s arm and stilling him. He looked almost as surprised as Jack felt for grabbing so accurately. 

“Can we take a break for a bit, Doc?”

The man stiffened for a moment -- but only a moment. Underneath his fingers, Jack could feel him loosen, a ragged sigh escaping him. 

“Yes, of course, of course. These tests, they must be exhausting for you.”

“I’ve had worse,” he stated plainly. It wasn’t a lie, and the doctor seemed to catch that. “What I’m wondering is what you’ve found so far.” 

Jack watched as he shifted again, his arm pulling gently out of Jack’s grip. 

“Not sure yet, I’ll have to wait until the results come back. My best guess is that you suffered damage to your occipital lobe when you got your concussion. That sort of injury… can cause a  _ different _ sort of blindness.” 

“How different are we talkin’ here?” 

“As in, your blindness isn't in your eyes, which makes it trickier to treat and diagnose. But we’ll get you there.”

Jack looked at him for a moment, then down at the and now resting in his lap. 

“I see. Or, well…” he shrugged off his own bad pun. “Anyway, thanks Doc.”

A soft laugh next to him and a pat on the shoulder. 

“Julian Girsch. Or, for you, just Julian.”

“Oh, thanks Julian.”

A beat between them. 

“I’ll have my daughter, Anna bring you food up later.”

_ Anna. _ The name brought up a knot of emotion he hadn’t been expecting. He swallowed it down and nodded, doing his best to maintain composure. It wasn’t until he felt the doctor move from him that he was prompted to look up, following the movement and noise. 

“Hey wait, Doc-” 

“Julian,” he corrected cheerily, turning back to him. 

“Ah, right -- old habit, I guess. But uh, you can call me -”

“John, isn’t it?” 

It was like a cold bucket was splashed down onto him. He snapped his mouth shut, a shudder moving through him. He felt his heart start racing as the man started talking again - no doubt because of the look on his face.

“It was on your -- what do Americans call them?  _ Hundemarke?  _ Your tags?”

“...Shit.” 

There was an awkward beat between them. Jack was almost frozen in place, unsure of what to do, unsure of what to say. This man had seen his tags, which meant he knew who he was -- a man considered dead. Or, at least, that’s what he hoped. It had been five days, but he had not heard anything about what the news thought of the watchpoint blowing up. Julian had said they had moved him here -- was it because people were looking for him? Or was it because he was leading him to the enemy? Would Julian try anything while he was compromised? He gripped the sheets, his jaw setting. 

“Look, if you’re going to try anything you should just get it--”

“Mr. Morrison I am a  _ doktor.  _ If I had wanted to do anything to you, I would have had plenty of time to do so while you were still out cold.”

The icy seriousness of the man’s word just made the heat in Jack’s veins rise, burning just beneath the surface. 

“I may be blind but I’m not dumb. If I find out you’re keeping me alive for -”

“Papa?” A third voice, small and apprehensive came from the door leading to the hall. Jack jerked his head towards her, and he could see her form shrink from it. Jack could hear the doctor unstiffen, hear him turn to his daughter, speaking to her quietly in German for a moment. He then turned to Jack.

“I want to assure you, John, I am not motivated by ill intentions. But we shall discuss it later. For now, my daughter has brought you some lunch. I suggest you eat up; your body needs all the calories it can get.”

And with that, Julian left, leaving Jack with his thoughts. Outside, the woman made her way into the room with a tray. Jack couldn’t get a good look at her --  _ God, these eyes are already an annoyance --  _ but he could see she had light hair and was wearing a sundress and leggings. She placed the tray of food on the stand next to his bed. As she got close, Jack could see more details. Tired eyes and an averted gaze, she looked close to his age, if not a touch younger. Every now and then, her eyes would dart to his face only to look away again. He squinted, raising an eyebrow. 

“You know I can see you, right?” The question caused her to jump.

“Well, I mean,  _ kind of _ . Your features are a bit blurry but -” 

“I’m sorry if I disturbed you, sir,” she said. Her accent reminded him of Angela’s - light and airy. “It is good to see you better.” 

“Ah.” That’s right; she was the one who found him in a mangled state, just after surviving an explosion, body broken and destroyed and half dead. 

“I’m sorry if I scared you earlier.”

“Do not be. My father, he is a good doctor. I have seen worse than you, if you can believe it.” 

He nodded, having nothing else to say. She stood there for a moment or two, shifting. He noted the movement, raising an eyebrow even if he wasn’t facing her.

“If ya have something to say, just spit it out,” he commanded. He didn’t have the patience for games. 

“It is nothing. Just… my father is a good man. Do not be so hasty to peg him as another villain.”

“Even the villains think they are good people,” he told her quietly, not even trying to meet her eye. He felt her own anger rise up, a whispered “ _ Miststück _ ” escaping her lips. She turned her heel and stalked off without another word.

“Hey, wait, is there a laptop in here? Or a news source? Something?” 

“If you can find it,” she spat back angrily, slipping out the door and down the hall. 

And just like that, Jack was alone in the room. He looked to his right; the tray of food waited for him. He took a whiff and grimaced; he had been in Angela’s ward enough times to know the food always smelled better than it tasted. This meal didn't tell particularly exciting, so he lowered his hope as far as they could go. Nevertheless, he was hungry, and if the previous conversation told him anything, it was that he needed to get his strength back.

He needed to get out of this hospital - the faster the better.

Not looking to the future meal, he begrudgingly picked the tray up, not expecting the wad of paper that fell onto the bed after it. He lifted an eyebrow and grabbed it; from look and feel, was a local Swiss paper. His heart jumped as he saw a few large color images, as well as well as headlines both big and small and all in German. He squinted closely at one, surprised when he was able to make out the familiar word “ _ Overwatch _ ”. 

“Hah!” Finally, a bit of success. As he skimmed the rest of the page, however, his enthusiasm drained away as his smile transformed into a frown. 

“Great,” he mumbled out, leafing through the pages. 

“I can’t read for shit.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Man, Laur, for someone who just lost their best friend, Jack hasn't thought too much on Gabe and how he saw him die."
> 
> Yeah, I know. The next chapter will have more on why. This chapter is just a bit of setup I had to get out of the way so the next few make sense. Hang tight!


	4. A Reverie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The memory of a laugh bubbled up. Gabe always had a bark of a laugh, a broken thing that caught in his throat, like he never learned what a real laugh was. His neck prickled as he felt a warm breath tickle at his face, as if Gabe was actually there, head leaning in, closing the gap between them effortlessly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been so quiet, everyone. I was feeling really down about my writing lately, mostly because I was trying to convey an idea but having a hard time bringing it to words. I was finally able to break it, and write this chapter, which I'm really happy with. I try to reply to almost all comments I receive, and I thank everyone for the kudos and the likes and especially the subscriptions. You guys keep me writing, and I'll still try to see this story to the end. 
> 
> There's a bit of German here, but it's translated in the text, so it shouldn't be too hard to understand. It I got it wrong though, let me know! I don't speak a lick of German.

_ “Authorities are still investigating the possible cause behind the explosion and subsequent destruction of the famed Overwatch Headquarters stationed in Zurich, Switzerland. Even more upsetting is that international icon Jack Morrison - the Strike Commander and public figurehead of Overwatch - was caught in the blast, along with former Overwatch Commander, Gabriel Reyes. Both men were strong, prominent figures in the organization, both hailed from the United States, and both are presumed dead, along with countless other officers and employees who were present in the building at the time of the explosion. While this appears to be simply a tragic accident, a recent UN investigation into the group reveals that it may have been an inside job, with both commanders involved and both potentially being the intended targets. We’ll go to Colleen Samsara now, who is in Zurich with Angela Ziegler, esteemed nanobiologist and head of Medicine for Overwatch. Colleen?” _

_ “Thanks Jerome. I’m here for the USNN with Miss Angela Ziegler, esteemed doctor and medical engineer. Miss Ziegler, the attack happened almost a week ago now. Can you comment on the state of things here in Zurich?” _

_ “Please Colleen, it is just Angela. Right now it is hard to judge the damage done from the blast. Even now, I have the hard task of leading my team through the rubble. It is not easy to find faces you once knew. Even harder when you know there are faces you should be seeing, and haven't yet found.” _

_ “As with any disaster, surely, the effects will be felt for years to come. This tragedy has been felt by the entire world. I think I speak for so many when I ask: is there any hope left of finding Jack Morrison or his colleague Gabriel Reyes?” _

_ “... Things like this are never easy to swallow, but at this time I have nothing to report on either of their conditions. Sadly, once the UN get their way, it will not matter how I feel about looking for Jack and Gabriel-- or their bodies. I expect a cease and desist from searching the premises any day now. At this point… I fear the worst for both of them. They were so close to the blast epicenter… surviving that kind of bodily trauma would be nothing short of a miracle.” _

_ “Well, they say you are in the business of miracles, aren’t you, Angela?” _

_ “Be that as it may...No. Not this time. I cannot be in the business if the UN will not allow it.”  _

_ “Of course. Because this must be a hard subject for you, I just have one final question; do you have any thoughts that you would like to give on the Petras Act that is going into effect soon, outlawing Overwatch agent activity?” _

_ “If I must? ...That it’s for the best. Perhaps if this had been enacted earlier… well, let's just say a lot of unnecessary loss could have been avoided. I have had to bury more friends than I would like to count.” _

_ “And we are all sorry for your loss. This is Colleen Samsara for USNN here in Zurich, Switzerland. Jerome, back to you.” _

 

\----

 

Jack scoffed and growled, swiping the holovid window off the tablet screen, cutting off the audio feedback. Anna sighed softly next to him, shaking her head and she cleaned up his station and checked the machines hooked to him. 

“The news not something you’d like to hear, Strike Commander?” she said cooly, letting the title roll off like an insult.

“Don’t call me that,” he rasped out, his scowl deepening. The newsreel had left a sour taste in the back of his throat; he didn’t need his former title making that worse for him.

“Well,  _ miststück,  _ if you give me a good reason not to call you that, then I will stop. For now, it suits you, if only ironically.” 

“What does that even mean?”

“What does what mean?” she asked, changing his IV bag, pretending to not catch the context of his question.

“That particularly venomous bit of German you like spitting at me.”

“Oh,  _ that _ .” She was silent for a long time, knowing how frustrated it made the blind man next to her. When the satisfaction of an angry sound or look didn't come, she let out a breath and continued on. “The closest equivalent would be  _ piece of shit.” _

A gruff, defeated laugh bubbled out of him.

“More appropriate than ‘Strike Commander’, that's for sure” he replied. It was a resigned sort of anger; he supposed he deserved to be called a piece of shit. He had been nothing but a nuisance since he woke up in this hospital and found himself immobile and blind. Realizing Anna and her father knew who he was meant he couldn’t trust them - or, more accurately he  _ wouldn’t _ allow himself to trust them. There were too many people out there who knew his face, his story- who wanted him dead. He was grateful the news was trying to make that lie a reality but he knew there were those out there smart enough not to be fooled. Even two people was two too many for knowing the truth of his current (albeit vulnerable) state.

He did have to give the Girschs the benefit of the doubt, though. Despite how much of a sour attitude he gave them they never tried to kill him, even though they had access to plenty of tools designed to do just that. Just a bit too much morphine, just a bit too little oxygen… 

Then again, he was probably too enhanced for that. Not even a point blank explosion was enough to kill him; instead it just leave him someone better off dead. If anything, that just made him more dangerous than he already was, even more of a liability. If Anna and Julian were hesitating in doing him in, he had to assume they had a good reason in keeping him alive instead of putting him out of his misery.

Perhaps a blind super soldier was just too good of a guinea-pig-turned-guard-dog to pass up. He knew a lot and could reveal a lot, especially if he was coerced instead of tortured. It was so easy to instill stockholm syndrome on someone, no matter how sharp or wary there were. He knew all the tricks his enemies employed in their endless arsenal. Hell, even Amélie had been turned into a sleeper agent, and that wasn’t even scratching the surface of some of the things that Talon alone was capable of. Hell, some of the reports Reyes would turn into him were-

The images came vividly and unbidden. The hard expression, the scars filled with blood, the broken body, the silent peaceful face under the rubble in the dying light. Jack had left them all there,  _ God help me I left him there to rot alone and I couldn't even tell him - _

“Hey, are you even listening? You go deaf as well as blind?”

His head shot around to the voice, his body tensing and untensing as he came back to the present. His head throbbed as the sharp images of his memory faded to blurred lines and too-hard contrast and he closed his eyes, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Sorry, I zoned out for a second. Could you repeat, please?”

Sensing his discomfort, he felt Anna shift next to him, her tone sounding a touch softer. Like she was giving him the sting of antiseptic instead of the burn of bleach. He decided it wasn't much better. 

“It was nothing important. I asked if you had a preference of what to call you, but now I think that's too much a luxury.”

“Soldier,” he gruffed out. God, he sounded old. “Just call me a soldier. Always been one, always will be one. Wish it'd just stayed that way.” She didn't say anything to that, but his eyes searched for her form as she moved around the bed. Since she seemed unresponsive, he allowed his mind to wander back to the news report he heard. He turned over the words in his head; he had tried to watch the report, but he eventually had just closed his eyes, trying in vain to dull the ever-present ache at the back of his skull. His headaches were as chronic as his eyes now, it seemed. The two had come into his life hand-and-hand and didn't want to leave any time soon.

Over the ache, his brain nagged at him. 

“Mercy sounded tired in the video,” he stated aloud.

Anna Girsch stopped her movements near him; he could hear the fabric of her shirt as she placed a hand on her hip.

“Yes. I would think so, anyone would be exhausted looking for a body that wasn't actually there-”

“No, you don't get it,” he growled pinching his fingers at the bridge of his nose. His free hand gripped his bedsheet in annoyance. “Mercy isn't like  _ you _ , she isn't even like  _ me _ . She doesn't  _ get _ tired _. _ She medically beat tiredness out of herself, along with a lot of other things. She makes what you do look laughably easy. If she sounds tired then something is wrong. Off.” His fingers twitched and curled in the sheets, trying to understand. “What did she look like?” Anna gave herself a beat before replying. 

“Radiant.”

“Goddamnit she always looks-” frustrated, he cracked an eye open, enough to accurately grab the pad and shove it towards Anna unkindly. 

“Can you rewatch the holovid? Look for small details, anything. There are a few moments where she pauses-- can you tell me about them?” When Anna didn't grab it from him, he sighed through his teeth, eyes rolling towards the ceiling. “ _ Please, _ this is critically important. The last time Angela even showed tiredness was almost ten years ago when she spent two weeks not sleeping because she thought she had defeated death for the first time.” 

That seemed to hit something deep in Anna and she took the pad carefully from his grasp. Silently, she muted the video, rewatching it carefully a few more times. Next to her, Jack also made no noise, his good leg jiggling restlessly. Finally, Anna spoke next to him.

“She...appears as tired as she sounds; barely, but it’s there. There are lines on her face. Bags under eyes. Perhaps some color lost. Most is masked by makeup for the camera.”

“Fuck.”

The curse was stronger than he liked, but he didn't care. He didn't want to think of why Mercy would be so tired, so strung out, so drained. Mercy didn't  _ get _ drained; the nanobots in her body kept her in peak physical performance and tracked all her vitals. She had told him this herself once while he had been in her ward after a particularly nasty mission had left a few too many bullet holes in his side. 

_ “You're never tired, Angela. What's your secret?”  _

_ She had laughed. It was too light, too airy for his tastes. It always had been, always would be. _

_ “A magician never reveals her secrets,” she had started playfully, changing his dressings and checking his wounds. “But if you must know: nanobots. All experimental. I’d never use them on anyone else without their consent but they keep me in tip top shape. Much like your enhancements, Jack, but more efficient and a lot less, ah, _ painful.”

He hadn't inquired any further after that. His own enhancements from that old soldier program had left him distrustful of a lot of experimental medicine, and hers was no different. 

So if she was tired, physically,  _ visibly _ tired _.. _ .

“This isn't good. This really isn't good,” he said the words aloud but if Anna responded, he didn't register it. “Can you look up any other recent videos of Angela, if there are any? Can you keep tabs on how she looks for me?” 

“Why?” 

“I need to know if she's getting better or worse.” 

“Alright,” Anna said, and he could vaguely see her typing away on the pad. “Would one state or the other make you feel better about all this,  _ ami _ ?”

“Truthfully? No. Not at all.”

 

\---

 

“You called for me, Jack?” 

The bedridden soldier turned his head towards the sound of his name, seeing the shape of Anna’s father, Julian, in the doorway. He was still tense from his earlier Mercy revelation, and Jack knew it showed. Immediately, the doctor made his way to the bed and sat down in the chair next to the bedside table, sighing as he did so.

“You know, you shouldn't be so tightly wound. You could burst your stitches just from flexing too much. I’ve seen men less enhanced than you do just that.”

“We both know I’d heal over something as simple as a popped seam.”

“What do you need, Jack.” The doctor wasn’t here for small talk. Neither was Jack.

“Your honesty. Your trust. Your expertise.”

Jack heard the man lean back in the chair, the furniture creaking under the movement.

“You already have all of those. What more could you possibly want?” 

Jack couldn't stop the clench in his jaw. “You know it's hard for me to trust you right now. I'm supposed to be dead. My best friend  _ is _ dead, I watched him die. And yet-” his breathing hitched and he had a hard time calling it back. “Look. I just need to know. Why the fuck am I here? What can I possibly give you? The satisfaction of saving the famous strike commander? Am I your bargaining chip for a better life? The perfect test subject? Bragging rights? Because clearly some powerful people wanna see me six feet under so if you're keeping me here like this just to kill me later you got some sick sort of humor, doc.”

“Julian.”

“Are you really going to be smart with me right now, doc?” 

“Well, with how stupid you are being, Jack, I'd say I have every right to be smart.” The statement caught the man off-guard and his mouth shut, his jaw working furiously. The doctor resettled in his chair, making himself comfortable before addressing the soldier once again. 

“But you are right. You deserve to know why you are here. And with everything you have witnessed in your life I'm sure my response will come as a surprise to you. Simply put, I am a doctor. And I helped you because I am a doctor and it is my duty to help you while I still have the power to do so.”

The statement hung in the air between them and for a time, Jack didn't have anything to say. It was infuriatingly easy. His fist clenched the sheets and his anger bubbled up, unbidden. Everything in his life had been hard. Farm life had been hard. The SEP had been hard. The Omnic Crisis, Overwatch, being Strike Commander, becoming the UN’s personal puppet, hell even his own  _ death _ had been hard. He knew how to deal with hard. 

He didn't know what to do with something as simple and easy as “ _ because I wanted to _ ” in response to his own life. And God did it make him  _ angry _ .

“You're shitting on me doc and I don’t appreciate it. Whoever is paying you to spout this bullshit I swear I will-” 

“Are you so jaded to the world that you cannot fathom that someone outside of yourself would do something just out of sheer sense of duty and good intention?” 

Jack’s mouth snapped shut and he looked away, face burning with indignation. A gruff voice tickled at his ears, unbidden and unwanted.

_ “Got your head too far up your own ass as always, Morrison.”  _

He shook his head to rid himself of the voice and the memory that bubbled up. Tried to not think of the look Reyes face than given him then, the smirk that his eyes always held even when his lips didn’t. 

God, he was still an idiot. Always had been, always would be.

A hand on his shoulder brought him back to reality and he turned to Girsch once again. 

“ _ Tsk _ , don't worry my boy. I know the feeling. I have seen it in soldiers for years now. Used by their country, dying for nothing, easily forgotten and discarded. It’s easy to think the worst of everyone else. It's easy to see yourself as the only hero, when everyone else slowly becomes the villain around you.

“But the secret is there are no villains. There are no heroes. Just those who die and those who have to live on to deal with the experience as they see fit.” Julian removed his hand from Jack’s shoulder and Jack instinctively turned towards him, trying so hard to focus on his face. The man was just close enough that he could see the lines in his skin, the smile tugging at his cheeks.

“Let me tell you something, Jack. I was a medic for the first omnic war; for any and all sides. My colleagues liked to criticize this decision but what can I say? I’m Swiss. It did not matter to me; I was freelance and neutral. I've made it my life's work to help those who need it, no matter the title, the cost, or the risk involved. I was good at what I do, Jack. I still am-- I was even once asked by the UN to join the little group you now call Overwatch. My technique and skill was unparalleled at the time. However, I respectfully declined, a decision I do not regret making even today.”

Jack’s brow furrowed- he had not expected this. He was never told of potential recruits, only the ones who had accepted the invitation and joined the fold. Questions rolled in his skull but he held onto them, waiting for the doctor to continue. 

“I didn't want to join the group because even then I knew Overwatch - and by extension, the UN itself - would want more than I could offer it, or  _ wanted _ to offer it. Despite your task force being assembled to stop the omnic threat, their methods had been questionable, secretive, and unknown. A lot of experimenting happened, in both people and tech. I knew I would be limited in the scope of mwho I could help -- namely, only Overwatch agents and their, ah,  _ special  _ needs.” His gaze was pointed at Jack and he squirmed under it. “I couldn't do that. I needed to help others everywhere, not continue to cheat death like Overwatch wanted.”

The tone changed with those last words and Jack couldn't stop the tilt of his head or the furrow of his brow. 

“You mean, like Ziegler.” Girsch's heavy sigh was all the affirmation he needed.

“We either die or live with the experiences, yes? Well she, as I'm sure you know, lost her parents young, and that had a profound affect on how she went about her craft. She is a brilliant woman - a great pride of our country, even- but  _ obsessed _ with conquering death, as if there was nothing worse than losing one’s own life. The UN always knew this-- they wanted her vision because they lost too many  _ wirklich einzigartig _ , too many one-of-a-kinds. Overwatch can’t replace Jack Morrison, can’t find another Lena Oxton. It's easier if they don't have to.” 

“Sounds like they’d just clone us.”

“Cloning is too messy, too difficult. It’s hard to grow a human, it takes too long, and then there’s the matter of memory replacement, personality injection…” he waved it off, shaking his head.  “No. Much easier to keep a body going when it already exists, much easier to keep memories still intact, much easier to do all those things. Vastly more efficient. People seem to think cloning is the answer to everything; it’s not. Such a messy ordeal. More trouble than it’s worth.”

Jack felt his own smirk tug at his lips. “You talk like you have experience in this, doc.” The man simply shrugged. 

“It was a phase the world went through, earlier in the 21st century. Thought we could grow limbs, stem cells, bring species back by cloning. That sort of thing. However, it was pushed aside as tech got better and more efficient. Why grow arms when prosthetics could be hooked directly to nerves, mimicking and feeling like a true arm, at a fraction of the time and cost? It is not surprising to me that science moved that direction in the end. Cleaner, surely.”

“Yeah.  _ Cleaner _ . More like ‘easier to shove under the rug’.” 

“I see you have no love lost towards your enhancement program.” Amusement danced around the doctor’s words. 

“And I see you have no love lost for the UN.” The soldier’s own humor was too dark for dancing.

“Hives are more terrifying and dangerous than their singular insect,” 

The grin split Morrison’s broken face. There was no laughter in it. 

“Not if you know how to smoke and shake the nest.”

 

\----

 

Hospital stays had never been Jack’s favorite. They used to make him nauseous -- make him break into a sweat, make him wish for death over being in another sterile white room -- but the years had made him more tolerable. He no longer felt his throat close up at the sight of a needle, didn’t tense or feel his blood pressure rise at the sight of a scalpel. Those SEP days were long behind him, and he had visited med bays enough since then to not fear them as much. However, the quesiness these places gave him never really went away, just became easier to swallow. These days the worst was simply bearing with the unending boredom. Hospitals were never the most enriching places and machines watching his vitals didn’t make for good conversationalists. Sometimes Julian would come in, speak some words, give a strained companionship. Anna, however, was as distant and short as ever. Their interactions were few and far between and the lack of his own autonomy began to take it’s toll. After day 4, he was practically jumping out of his skin, wishing his enhancements would heal him faster so he could get up and  _ move _ already. There had been more than a few times that the machine alarms had alerted one or both practitioners only to have them rush in and find Jack forcing himself to his feet, muscles straining, nearly collapsing under his one leg that refused to hold his weight. It was a fight every time, one that only got worse as his arm was released faster than his leg. Eventually, the bandages were removed from his head, his torso. The more he healed, the faster he recovered, the more the walls closed in around him. He had to get out of this place, and everyone knew it. 

Getting used to blindness was the hardest part. More and more, he wished his eyes had just gone dark instead of whatever  _ mess _ his vision now was instead. The longer he tried to use his eyes, the more the images in front of him warped and changed. There was more than one night where he woke up, alone in the dark, only to swear a figure was standing over him, shifting and changing. But as he gasped, moved to fight, his arm hit nothing but a chair, a table, a nearby gurney. He kept seeing phantoms and his ears would supply sounds to try and help make sense of what his eyes were trying to see. Sometimes his brain warped what was there into what he  _ wanted _ to see, like Gabe sitting on the end of his bed, until he turned and his face was a darkened mass, a bloody stain, cold eyes watching him. It never helped when he heard the whispers of a Spanish phrase on his ears, ones he could never relive properly because he never learned like he wanted to because Gabe never really had the time and he never made the date and those memories always ended with him thrashing his sheets and gripping his face, holding back the tears and nausea that followed.

His head throbbed. It never stopped. He didn’t think it ever would.

It was maddening. The longer he stayed, the worse his mental state became. His enhancements healed the body; they spared no kindness for his mind. He knew both doctors took note as the days passed. Even Anna softened her speech, tried to make light conversation, but Jack didn’t want anything soft. He always demanded to know news of Zurich, news of Angela, news of Lena or Reinhardt or McCree. He even asked for mundane news articles of the surrounding cities, listening, looking for anything odd or out of the ordinary. He would borrow the holopad at night, talking to the basic AI built in, playing videos and having articles translated and read back to him. He found something grounding in gathering word on Overwatch and the Petras Act. It gave him something to cling to, to focus on, even when Gabriel was hovering on his peripheral. He was always watching him now with his hood up, face and body wrecked, eyes half-lidded and dark and more than a little judgemental. 

_ “You’re going tunnel-visioned again, Jack,” _ the phantom would tell him. There was always an amused tinge to the wraith’s conversations, as if he expected nothing less of the broken soldier in the bed before him.

“Fuck off Reyes, don’t you have better places to haunt than a hospital bedside?”

_ “Sure. Because the wreck of Zurich is such a homely place to settle down. Can scare off some possums that try to make a nest in my intestines.”  _

Jack smirked. Reyes always did have a morbid sense of humor. Jack refused to turn to the figure, instead focusing on the holovid in front of him. He knew if he looked the figure would morph, become a monster or -- worse -- leave. He hated himself for it, he knew it wasn’t real, but at least his hallucinations gave him some goddamn quality company.

“I don’t think even possums would want to make your chest a nest cavity. Not when they find out that you’re heart’s just a black hole inside.” 

_ “Oh, is that how you justify getting sucked in so easily?” _

Jack liked to imagine that the figure next to him moved, shifted closer. Liked to think he could feel the heat of Gabe’s body close to his, even if he knew for a fact that his body was cold and lifeless and miles away.

“Nah, just how I justify never being able to escape.”

There was a scoff in his ears and he closed his useless eyes as he felt ghostly fingers rake their way through his hair. They were wet with blood, leaving lines and stains in his golden locks. Hell, his imagination was getting just as bad as Gabe’s. Even so, he couldn’t help the smile, couldn’t stop the very real heat pooling in his stomach.

_ “Goddamn, getting sappy in your old age, are we?”  _ Gabe only held that kind of affection in his words for him, once upon a time.

“You know I’m only this sickly sweet for you, Reyes.”

The memory of a laugh bubbled up. Gabe always had a bark of a laugh, a broken thing that caught in his throat, like he never learned what a real laugh was. His neck prickled as he felt a warm breath tickle at his face, as if Gabe was actually there, head leaning in, closing the gap between them effortlessly. 

Jack’s lips parted instinctively. He would swear later that he could smell marigolds in his nostrils, could feel the firm grip at the back of his neck, pushing him upwards into a kiss he was sure was more than just a phantom, more than just a hallucination, as he pressed his lips to a heat that felt like more than just air. But, God help him, he refused to open his eyes, refused to let go of a warped and twisted memory that felt too much like the real thing.

He was still an idiot. Always had been. Always would be.

_ God, how fucked up am I. _

God, apparently, was there to answer with his own morbid humor. The next moment there was a bang, a crash, an alarm sounding before it cut off instantly. Breath catching, Jack’s eyes snapped open, body tensing, ready for a fight. He was greeted with a swimming, inky blackness; it took him more than a few seconds to realize it wasn’t because Gabe had been there but because the power had been cut. He heard muffled voices yelling far away; he heard soft, frantic footsteps much closer. When he felt the very real, very solid hand on his shoulder, he almost reflexively ripped it out of its socket. 

“Jack,” the whispered voice hissed. It was Girsch. He tried to keep his voice airy, but the soldier sensed every bit of panicked edge. “Looks like you’re checking out early.”

“What the fuck is going on, doc?” Jack growled out lowly. Somewhere, a few voices rang out, along with gunshots. His stomach fell in the most unpleasant way. “You better not be two-timing me or I swear-” The look in the doctor’s eyes cut him off.

“Your stubbornness towards me is admirable Jack, but this isn’t my doing. Now, let us get you out of here, or we’re all going to die. For real, this time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't post all of my fic to my[ Tumblr, ](http://laur-rants.tumblr.com/)but if you want to see what I'm up to when I'm not writing, feel free to follow. I do a lot of art and streaming, because just writing isn't enough to occupy my downtime...
> 
> I have the next handful of chapters planned out for this fic, but I will probably also be focusing a few chapters on [Decayed](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7603324/chapters/17304418) as well. They run on roughly the same timeline, and I plan to end both fics at the same time. I would have made them both the same fic, but it would have felt so disjointed and back and forth and... anyway. Please check out Decayed as well; that one goes after Gabe and what's he's up to. I'm really happy with it, and plan on updating it soon.

**Author's Note:**

> I enjoy filling story timeline gaps. Blizzard may fill in holes later, but I think the 6-year gap is one they will take their time on - if ever at all - which means I am free to insert my own ideas. This started as an interest to see Blind76 take out top security buildings and still walk away untouched and with weapons/tech/documents, but then it kind of grew and got really feelsy and dark so... I plan to explore a lot of things. Why Morrison is the way he is, his downward spiral, his loss of sense of self, his worsening condition, etc. 
> 
> If this does well, who knows; I have ideas for a Reyes companion piece, going over his 6 years (which are far different from Jack's). We shall see we shall see; I just have a lot of feels for these old dead soldiers. Until then, leave a comment, leave a kudos, and I'll have another chapter up as soon as I can find the time.


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